


A Kind of Magic

by judithandronicus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, Cover Art, Deus Ex Machina, Emotional Constipation, Enochian Magic (Supernatural), First Time, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, POV Dean Winchester, Season/Series 11, Truth Spells, only sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus
Summary: “Do you know what Castiel really wants, Dean?”It isn’t real. This isn't real. Dean digs his fingernails into his palms, hands clenching so tightly into fists that they tremble, knuckles white with effort. He feels the jagged, bitten off edges of his nails breaking his skin, drawing several pinpricks of blood, and that’s good. Grounding. The pain, the blood…they remind him of what is real. The chair he is sitting in. The bunker. Sam, off somewhere in the bowels of the bunker, likely poring through yet another dusty old book for answers that it won’t have.Yes. These things are real. Dean’s troubled relationship with Cas? Real.The meatsuit straddling his lap right now, whispering into his ear? Not real.--Canon-divergent encounter between Dean and Casifer.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lucifer/Dean Winchester
Comments: 45
Kudos: 184
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. No Mortal Man

**Author's Note:**

> All titles from Queen's "A Kind of Magic."

“Do you know what Castiel _really_ wants, Dean?”

It isn’t real. _This_ _isn't_ _real_. Dean digs his fingernails into his palms, hands clenching so tightly into fists that they tremble, knuckles white with effort. He feels the jagged, bitten off edges of his nails breaking his skin, drawing several pinpricks of blood, and that’s good. Grounding. The pain, the blood…they remind him of what is _real_. The chair he is sitting in. The bunker. Sam, off somewhere in the bowels of the bunker, likely poring through yet another dusty old book for answers that it won’t have.

Yes. These things are real. Dean’s troubled relationship with Cas? Real.

The meatsuit straddling his lap right now, whispering into his ear? _Not real._

Even if his body wants it to be. Wants the hot weight grinding down against him to be Cas, _his_ Cas. Dean wants it so desperately that he has to push his nails deeper into his palms, tear at the open bits of skin until they’re coated in blood, until he can feel it dripping along his fingers, hot and viscous. He welcomes the sting of it, the messiness; anything to distract himself, to distract his body from what it wants, from what _he_ wants.

Because pain? Pain is _real_.

“Get off me,” he manages to grit out. His fingertips slipping in the wet mess inside his fists is enough of a distraction to keep his dick from hardening any further, thankfully.

“Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean,” the devil wearing Castiel’s face chuckles above him and presses their foreheads together. Those plush pink lips curl into a wry smile, transforming that familiar, beautiful face into something utterly foreign. “Whatever am I going to do with you, hmmm?” He rocks his hips forward so that Dean can feel the hard line of his erection—Cas’ dick, hot and thick and hard, _fuck_ —against his own. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious what your little pet angel would like to be doing to you.”

Dean sucks the sensitive flesh inside his lower lip between his teeth and clamps down until his mouth floods with the taste of copper. Little Dean may be a traitorous motherfucker, fattening up and straining against the confines of his jeans all unbidden, but Dean reminds himself that his upstairs brain is still in control here. He will not let Lucifer pull the groan from his throat; he absolutely will _not._ It’s not Cas doing this to him, no matter what Lucifer says; the devil lies. The devil is tempting him with what he wants more than anything, with _who_ he wants, and Dean will _not_ give in to that temptation.

“Fuck you.” Dean spits at him, actually fucking _spits_ —a spray of blood droplets hitting Cas’ chin, the corner of that luscious mouth—but the tremolo of his voice belies the false bravado of his words. Dean sucks in a ragged breath as Cas’ tongue darts out, licking up what it can reach, fucking _tasting Dean’s blood_ before dragging, slow and teasing, along the seam of his lips. Lucifer rolls Cas’ hips in languorous circle, teasing Dean’s hard-on with his own—well, Cas’? _shit_. Dean can’t keep track—and it makes Dean pant, shallow breaths coming out of his nose in harsh little puffs.

“Is that what you’d like, Dean?” The question is a throaty growl against his ear, followed by the tip of a tongue gliding along the shell of it. “Because that’s what my little brother would like.” Lucifer takes Dean’s earlobe between Cas’ teeth—no pressure, no biting, just holding it still, taunting Dean with the moist heat of his breath. “More than anything. He’s fucking _screaming_ for it.” Those teeth clamp down, and Dean can’t swallow back his whimper.

Because pain is _real_ , and that’s _Cas_ ’ mouth on him and Cas’ dick rocking against his, and Dean wants so desperately to believe Lucifer’s words, to believe that Cas could want _him_ the way that he’s wanted Cas for so long, for so _goddamn_ long. After all, Dean’s never been able to hold out completely. For all his talk and swagger, he _always_ gives in, eventually. He gave in to Alastair in the pit; he gave in to the Mark when it called out for blood; at least this time, when he gives in, he’ll be left with the memory of this moment, of getting what he wanted, right?

Almost.

The hollow laugh that echoes through the room isn’t Cas, nor is the surprisingly smooth voice coming from his mouth, or the wicked, teasing smile. As much as he wants to give himself over to the fantasy, to lose himself in the touch of Cas’ body, the smell of him, Dean knows he _can’t_. Knows he _shouldn’t_ , because the devil lies, and the devil tempts, and Dean cannot, abso-fucking-lutely _cannot_ do this to his friend, to his angel. To the man he lo—.

_Pull your shit together, Winchester. This ain’t Cas. This ain’t real._

“Oh my fucking daddy issues _,_ the two of you are insufferable.” This time, there’s no mistaking it, no mistaking him for Cas. Lucifer jumps to his feet so quickly it throws Dean off balance, tipping him and the chair ass over teakettle. The fall leaves him dazed and staring up at the bunker ceiling before he realizes what has happened. Dean shakes his head, blinks a few times, all the while tracking the frantic pacing of the trenchcoat-clad figure looming above him. “Do you know how _impossible_ he is in here? All the pining and worrying and _whining._ ‘Is Dean okay?’ ‘I need to watch over Dean.’ Dean Dean _Dean_. Marsha Marsha Marsha. It’s exhausting.”

Dean presses himself up to a seat, freezing at the sight of blood smearing on the floor. He wipes his palms onto his jeans before he rises to stand. “Ya know, if you’re that miserable, I got an easy solution.” Sneering, he levels his gaze on the smug motherfucker wearing Cas’ meatsuit.

“Oh Dean, _baby_ , shhhhh” that wrong, too-smooth voice coos, Lucifer pressing a long finger to Cas’ lips. “I know _exactly_ how to get poor little Castiel to shut the fuck up with all the pining, all that tedious ‘I know he likes me, but does he _like_ like me _?’_ bullshit. _”_ Lucifer prances into Dean’s space with a wicked smirk, another serpentine flick of tongue across those sinful lips. Then, he leans in close, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “We’re going to give him exactly what he wants.”

_What. The. Fuck?_ Dean swallows, thick and audible, feeling his Adam’s apple bob, struggling in his throat. And Lucifer laughs at him. He fucking _laughs,_ forcing some sort of high-pitched, schoolgirl _giggle_ from that perfect throat, and that’s _it._ Dean’s arm is pulling back, ramping up before he’s conscious of what he’s doing; yes, he’s throwing a goddamn punch at Cas’ face, but Cas ain’t home right now, and Dean’s had too damn much of this.

It doesn’t land, of course; no way could Dean’s weak-ass attempt at physical violence land against any goddamn Archangel, let alone Lucifer himself. Dean stumbles forward with the momentum of his punch, while Lucifer simply twirls out of his path, smooth and graceful as a choreographed dance. Dean, on the other hand, lands hard on his hands and knees, the impact of bone on the unforgiving concrete floor jarring as it echoes through the room. He’ll definitely feel that later. But even with the pain, with the awareness that he’s totally whiffed that punch, there’s still a satisfaction in the failure. At least he _tried_ to shut the fucker up. He needs to do something to dissolve that tension coiling around his spine and tugging deep inside his gut. _Anything’s_ gotta be better than this deep, unquenchable longing for what he can’t have, for what he shouldn’t let himself even _want._

By the time Dean realizes that the low-pitched grumble at the edges of his awareness is Luciferchanting in Enochian, it’s too late. The spell has already been cast.


	2. Waiting Seems Eternity

A flash of brilliant blue light. A tendril of golden smoke snakes its way around Dean’s neck, its heady warmth coursing through his skin. He feels the blood pulsing through every single capillary inside, electric underneath the surface of his flesh, and then…

And then…

Poof.

Nothing.

The world is still right there, spinning on its axis; there’s nothing burned into Dean’s flesh, no gaping wound to tend.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing but Lucifer in his Cas suit, sitting cross-legged on the map table, looking at Dean expectantly. 

“Didn’t work, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarls, and maybe he’s getting ahead of himself for feeling smug about it. Hopeful, almost. Maybe Cas was able to push through, just enough to fuck with Old Scratch a bit, mess up whatever he’d been trying to do with that spell.

Time stretches out, an eternity bubbling between them as they watch each other, stone faced and silent, Dean desperately searching for even the tiniest sign of _his_ angel’s presence. A tilt of his head, the squint, anything _._ And for a split second, he thinks he sees it. A slow-motion movement of that rumpled dark hair…but Lucifer shatters the illusion, cackling. “Oh my dad, your face! You should see that longing pitiful little _face!_ ”

Dean’s brows furrow; he sucks the insides of his cheeks between his teeth and purses his lips in frustration.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it, there.” More of that wrong, smooth voice dripping out of Cas’ mouth, like curdled ice cream in the sun, cloying and sour and so so _wrong._ Lucifer clasps his hands underneath his chin and gives an exaggerated blink or three. “How ya feeling there, big guy? Got anything you want to get off your chest? Hmmm?”

“Other than you’re a massive bag o’ dicks? Nah, I’m good.”

With a catlike agility, Lucifer hops off the table, those ocean eyes stormy with intent, with unadulterated desire (for what, Dean can only wonder), as he stalks forward. _Fuck._ But Dean’s about as stubborn as they come, so he crosses his arms over his chest, ready to stand his ground. He ain’t about to lose a game of chicken to this demonic motherfucker in Cas cosplay. Lucifer crowds forward, gets all up into Dean’s space, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. Because it’s Cas’ body pushing in closer and closer, until there’s just a hair’s breadth of space between them, Cas’ breath hot on his cheeks; it’s what he’s wanted for so goddamn long, but it’s _not_ , and Dean can’t motherfucking _breathe._ He braces himself, the muscles of his legs and trunk tense with effort as Dean determinedly stands there, stock still, but Lucifer continues moving, and then Cas’ lithe body is overpowering him. Dean’s boots scuff against the tile as he stumbles backward, and _sonofabitch_ he flings his hands back to catch himself as he falls into the wall.

So much for standing his goddamn ground.

“Cas, buddy,” even though he knows it’s a waste of time, Dean tries again. Maybe this time something will crack through, bring Cas back to the surface. “If you can hear me, you need to push him out. C’mon, man. I—I mean, uh… _we_ need you _.”_

A roll of those cobalt eyes, another too-expressive smile, that goddamn tease of Cas’ tongue across his lips…”You know what I’m gonna do for you, Dean-o? I’m going to give you exactly what you both want.” That confused hope flickers across Dean’s face before he can think to stop it, and Lucifer sees it. Of _course_ he sees it, and he just clucks his tongue, inhales sharply. “Not _that_ , obviously. I’m having way too much fun wearing your pining little boyfriend’s meatsuit. But _this?_ ” His eyes flash red as he presses the tips of his index and middle fingers to Dean’s forehead.

Another shimmer of brilliant blue, wrapping him up inside a warmth the color of Cas’ eyes, and then darkness.

* * *

“Dean?”

It can’t be real. Dean shakes his head as though that will rattle out the cobwebs. He’s on the floor again, staring up at the figure looming above him, head cocked to the side and squinting.

“Cas?” And fuck if it don’t come out all breathy like a schoolgirl with a crush, but Dean can’t help it. That’s _Cas_ looking down at him, Cas who just spoke his name, with that gravelly reverence that always made something in Dean’s chest clench up.

“I-I…I’m not sure of what’s happening. I can still feel Lucifer’s presence, but he’s just…there. Waiting for something. But I’m afraid I don’t know what.” Cas offers his hand, which Dean takes to pull himself up to stand.

“Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice, man.” Dean pulls the angel in for a hug, burying his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck and breathing him in before he remembers himself and pulls back, slapping Cas on the back.

“Dean….I’m sorry for—“

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean cuts him off, because who knows how long they’ve got before Lucifer turns off autopilot and hops back into the cockpit. “We gotta figure out how to get him out.”

“But Dean…I don’t understand,” Cas begins, and thank fuck he apparently wasn’t privy to the last twenty minutes because that’s an awkward conversation that Dean does _not_ need right now. “Why did Lucifer let me have control?”

“So we can fuck.” Dean answers without hesitation, then immediately clamps his hand over his mouth.

_Sonofabitch._

Cas tilts his head even more, raising an eyebrow appraisingly. “Dean? Did you—uh…are you feeling okay?”

“No, Cas, I’ve got a hard-on from Lucifer grinding _your_ ass on my lap, and apparently I can’t lie.” 

_Shit motherfucking goddamn sonofabitch._

The angel’s eyes go ‘deer in the headlights’ wide, and the floor refuses to open up and swallow Dean where he stands, and ain’t that just typical of his shitty ass luck. There’s never an apocalypse when he actually _needs_ one. Dean looks toward the ceiling and focuses on breathing as he tries to figure out what to say next. He runs his hand over the top of his head, and for the first time in the history of forever, understood the appeal of Sam’s stupid Fabio hair. He could use some of that to hide behind right about now.

“So…uh, Lucifer thinks you and me—well, uh…he said that you, y’know, _want_ me,” he hazards a glance at Cas, and damn if that confused squint ain’t the best poker face in the world, “like…uh, well, like _that_ , y’know, and he seemed to think that he’d...th-that he’d…” Dean feels heat rising, up from his chest and spreading out across his cheeks, and he has to stop talking. Because this is _Cas_ and no way does Cas feel like that for _him_ , and Lucifer’s just up to something. And wouldn’t you know, suddenly that plain old concrete floor is just about the most interesting thing Dean’s ever seen. He stares at a dark spot near his feet and listens to Cas clear his throat.

“And that made you uncomfortable.” Cas states, all matter-of-fact, the same way he’d say that the post office is on Main Street or bees are the cornerstone of our ecosystem. “I understand.”

“Well, yeah, can ya blame me?”

“Of course not, Dean. I know that you’re not interested in that sort of involvement with me, especially after all the pain that I’ve brought upon you and Sam.”

Wait, _what?_ Dean looks up at Cas through his lashes, and sees him staring down at that same dark patch of concrete, chewing on that beautiful pink bottom lip. Dean wants to suck on it.

“I don’t like the idea of Lucifer messing with us like that, Cas. Making up _lies_ about you to get a rise out of me, just because...because, y’know—”

“Because…”

“Just leave it, okay? Don’t ask.” Dean bites the insides of his cheeks, still hoping for a goddamn hole to swallow him up. His voice is harsh, harsher than it has any right to be, but he’s gotta do _something_ to stop this before it goes too far.

“Because what, Dean?” Cas has stepped into his personal space, and those blue eyes are boring holes through his skull, and _fucking Enochian truth spell._

“Because of how I feel about you. Because the motherfucker somehow knows it and is trying to use it against me…us…me. I don’t know,” Dean practically spits it out. “ Y’happy, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas steps even closer, crowding up against him. “Very much so.”

“Wh—“ And then Cas’ lips are against his, and Dean forgets how to talk.


	3. One Golden Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He needs to have as much of Cas inside him as possible, the same way he needs oxygen and cheeseburgers._   
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Lucifer has let Cas out to play, and now Dean wants more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a damned dirty liar, y'all, and this thing grew another chapter.

It isn’t real. It _can’t be_ _real_. Castiel’s fingers carding through his hair, blunt fingernails digging into the skin at the back of his head as the angel pulls him closer closer closer. Those lush pink lips pressing against his, softer than he had ever imagined…

Lucifer is fucking with his head. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Dean.” His name a gravelly rumble that Cas—because it’s _Cas, his_ Cas _, his_ angel growling his name like a prayer _—_ breathes into his mouth before following it with his tongue in a surprisingly gentle exploration. There’s a reverence to it, a desperation, and Dean can’t control himself, can’t stop the helpless little whimper that escapes his throat. Cas swallows it up eagerly, seeks out even more of them with a slide of his tongue against Dean’s, with the way he uses it to map out the topography of Dean’s mouth. It starts out slow and gentle, but grows more heated, more forceful with each moan, each sigh, each whimper he coaxes from somewhere deep in Dean’s core, and it’s all Dean can do to hold on, to let it happen.

The room is still spinning around them when Cas pulls away, and the absence of those lips against his, the millimeters of space the angel has put between their bodies now is a chasm that’s left Dean bereft, aching for it. “A-are you sure?” Cas asks. Dean snakes his arms around Cas’ waist inside that god awful trench coat and pulls, drawing their bodies flush together once again. _Much better._

Dean sighs, lets his eyes flutter closed as he inhales, breathing in the scent of Cas, a heady mix of ozone and forest and fresh earth and home. “Want you so bad, angel.” And whether it’s the truth spell or the momentum of the kiss, Dean can’t tell; all he knows is that years’ worth of walls are crumbling down, and he’s got to get to the other side before they can start to rebuild, before he can get back in his own goddamn way.

This time, it’s Dean who controls the kiss, his hands splayed wide on Cas’ shoulder blades as he licks into that perfect mouth, gobbling up the throaty groan reverberating from Cas’ throat. He loses himself in it, in the press of that firm chest against his own, in the drag of thick fingers through his hair, in the scrape of nails against his scalp. The kiss is messy and awkward and bruising and _perfect_ , their teeth clashing, their chins wet with spit, as they pant into each other’s mouths, neither willing to break the connection for something as trifling as breathing.

When the need for oxygen eventually overwhelms him, Dean reluctantly breaks away, the back of his head knocking against the wall as he catches his breath. But Cas—his beautiful, strong, perfect _angel_ Cas, fuck—doesn’t let him go far; those kiss-swollen lips move down to nip and suck a messy line down the column of Dean’s throat. The unexpected scrape of his stubble along the sensitive flesh sends sparks down Dean’s spine; the sting of his teeth as they graze along Dean’s clavicle makes his knees wobble. Where the fuck did Cas learn how to do that with his mouth? Dean should probably send them a fruit basket.

“As with most of my practical human skills, it’s a matter learning as I go along.” Cas mouths the words into that spot just beneath Dean’s ear, and oops, he must have been talking out loud, or maybe Cas was looking into his mind or something.

“Yes, my love,” Cas licks the shell of his ear, “you’re babbling.” Cas noses along his cheekbone, then draws back just enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes crinkle at the corners; Dean’s never seen the angel look so happy, so _light_ , and goddamn he’s beautiful.

_My love._ Cas said “my love.” _My love my love my love._

Dean’s eyes flood with…something—it’s probably a lot of dust, shut up—and he does not whine as he grabs Cas’ head and pulls him back in for another kiss. Dean Winchester absolutely does _not_ whine.

“Cas.” Dean could do this forever; it isn’t enough. He needs more, _now_ , and he’s about damn ready to bend Cas over the map table. Reluctantly, breaks the kiss, sliding a hand down Cas’ arm tointerlaces their fingers. He steps back and gives a hesitant tug. “My room?” He’s suddenly so nervous. Why is he so nervous?

_What if Cas stops him? What if Lucifer takes over again? What if this isn’t what Cas wants? What if—_

“You’re thinking too loudly, Dean.” Cas follows willingly, eagerly, and soon has overtaken Dean, pulling him down the hall, trench-coat billowing behind him.

This is actually happening. Dean stumbles as he tries to adjust himself in his jeans while keeping up with Cas. This is actually fucking _happening._

When they get to his bedroom, Cas stops in his tracks without going inside. His whole demeanor has suddenly gone all shy, and isn’t that just goddamn adorable? Dean crowds him up against the door, bracing his hands on either side of Cas’ shoulders. He moves in slowly, teasing the tips of their noses together, gently nudging Cas to lift his chin so that he can fit their mouths together. This one is different, somehow, a heady mixture of languid and desperate as Dean licks into Cas’ mouth, runs the tip of his tongue along the center of Cas’. Cas whines into it, fucking _whines,_ all soft and needy and Dean swallows it up, eager for more.

They stay like that, crowded up against Dean’s bedroom door, for fuck knows how long, kissing long and slow, Dean’s arousal somewhere between a high simmer and boiling over the whole time. But after all these years of wanting and forcing himself not to hope, and now knowing this may be a once in a lifetime chance, Dean wants to draw it out, to create the memory to last him the rest of his goddamn life. So he kisses Cas, keeps kissing him, kisses him like they have the rest of eternity laid out in front of them to do nothing but explore each other, body and spirit alike.

But Cas has other plans, it seems, and is soon snaking his arms around Dean’s waist, slipping his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer. And of course Dean goes where Cas wants him, slots a thigh between Cas’ spread legs and gives his angel something to press his erection against, to get a little more friction.

“You want more, sweetheart?” Dean murmurs as he drags his mouth along Cas’ jaw, groaning at the delicious scrape of Cas’ stubble against his lips. “Wanna give you what you want.”

“Yes, Dean.” A loud thunk echoes through the hall as Cas lets his head drop back against the door, offering up his neck for Dean to kiss and nibble and suck. “Please.”

Dean presses a chaste kiss to Cas’ throat, then stands up and opens his door. Gripping the lapel of the trench-coat, Dean draws Cas into his room and backs him up to the foot of his bed.

“Gonna make you feel so good.” He pushes Cas to a seat, and then climbs into his lap. It’s even better than before in the war room, when their bodies were reversed, because this time, it’s actually _Cas_ , and he wants this, they _both_ want this, fuck. Dean grinds down, pushes his clothed cock against Cas’, and is rewarded with another angelic whine, an answering thrust of Cas’ hips. _Fuck_.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s thrown his head back in pleasure until he feels the sharp pressure of Castiel’s mouth against his neck as he sucks a bruise into Dean’s sensitized skin. It’s way above his collar and Dean knows Sam will give him shit for it, the smug little bitch (“A hickey, Dean? Really?”)but he doesn’t give a solitary fuck about that right now because Cas is claiming him and he _wants_ it.

“Cas, c-can I…” the question peters out when he feels teeth graze along his throat; everything has, really, except for the ticker tape of _Cas’_ _mouth_ and _my skin_ running nonstop through his brain. He’s squirming now, wantonly gyrating against Cas’ dick, and oh yeah, he almost forgot that he wants that in his mouth. “Can I suck you? Please, angel?” And yeah, maybe Dean _does_ whine, but who the fuck cares because seriously, he needs Cas’ cock in his mouth, like _yesterday._

“Anything, Dean.” Dean begins to slide his way down, off of Castiel’s lap and onto his knees, and Cas licks his lips in anticipation as he follows Dean’s movement. His stormy blue eyes widen as he watches Dean kneel before him, full of reverence and awe and it’s almost too much to bear, the intensity of his gaze as he stares at Dean, like he’s offering himself up in supplication even though Dean’s the one on his knees. “Anything you want to give me.”

When Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, cups the back of his head, Dean can feel the prickle of tears forming behind his eyes. He’s not going to cry like he’s in the middle of some goddamn chick flick, dammit. Dean surges forward, burying his face in the angel’s crotch, instead, nuzzling the hot bulge beneath Cas’ trousers, inhaling the musky scent of his arousal. The gentle fingers carding through his hair curl just so, turning that teasing caress into a sharp pinch of nails, and Dean realizes the moan echoing in his ears is his own. _Fuck yeah._

He noses his way up to the waistband of those dress pants, his eyes locked on Cas’ the whole time, and unzips the fly with his teeth. And if he flashes his angel a little shit-eating grin when he sucks that plump pink lip between his teeth, what of it? So he likes to show off a little, even if it means going a little out of order. He makes quick work of undoing Cas’ belt and that little metal slider thingy on his waistband, and then Cas is taking over, lifting his hips and shoving those trousers down his thick thighs until they’re caught at his ankles because _whoops_ guess they forgot they’re still wearing shoes. This will probably work better if they press pause for a minute.

“Clothes off first,” he mutters, yanking his flannel off his arms and flinging it across the room before standing to take off his pants. Cas follows suit, and soon they’re a frantic jumble of limbs as they tug at the fabric standing in the way of skin-on-skin, clumsily kicking off boots and toeing off socks until they’re both bare and wanting. Dean pushes Cas back onto the bed and sinks down before him, ready and eager to worship at the altar of Castiel’s Cock. It’s thick and veiny, jutting proudly up from Cas’ lap. The head is flushed rosy pink where it peeks out from the foreskin, and in the back of his head Dean revels in the novelty of it, of seeing an uncut dick in the wild like this, but then he notices a pearl of pre-come glistening at the tip and _fuck_ he’s staring, but it’s Cas’ cock and it’s absolutely goddamn perfect.

_Halle-motherfucking-lujah amen._

Dean leans in and licks that pearl of fluid from the slit, and Cas jolts at it. Dean sits back on his heels, slides his palms along the tops of the angel’s thighs, looks up at his beautiful face. “This okay?” he asks, softly. Cas has gone a little glassy-eyed, is just staring down at Dean, lips parted and panting. “Cas, buddy, you still with me?” Dean scrapes his nails along one well-muscled thigh, just enough to pull Cas out of his daze. “Can I keep going?”

Cas shakes his head, squinting just a little before he answers, “Y-yes, please.” Dean flicks the tip of his tongue along the frenulum, then swipes it over to dip into the slit. Cas groans, a barely audible, throaty rumble, and that’s fucking _it._ Dean takes the head into his mouth, massaging the underside with his tongue as he starts to suck. Just a delicate tease to start, easing them both into it, into that wet slide of velvet soft skin against his lips and tongue, the insistent bump of Cas’ cockhead against Dean’s soft palate. With each pass Dean takes Cas deeper, sucks him longer, until the wiry curls at the base tickle his nose, and Cas is uttering something even Dean can tell is absolutely filthy in a raspy, broken-off Enochian.

Soon Cas is thrusting into his mouth, hands curled tight around the back of his head, loosing breathy little gasps and sighs as he fucks up into Dean’s mouth, and yes it’s not exactly proper blowjob etiquette but so what? Dean’ too busy with the weight of Cas on his tongue, the stretch of his lips around Cas’ girth, the bitter tang of pre-come bursting on his tastebuds to give two shits about that, anyway. Dean holds tight to Cas’ hips and hangs on, lets Cas take the lead and if his angel wants to fuck his mouth, his angel gets to fuck his goddamn mouth. His mouth is watering so much he’s drooling, spit mingled with Cas’ precome dribbling down his chin with every thrust, and it’s the kind of blowjob Dean loves to receive, all wet and messy, and knowing that _he’s_ having that effect on Cas?

_Well_. If his own dick gets any harder it might actually explode. Dean pushes his crotch against Cas’ shin to relieve the pressure, smearing his own precome just a little, then gets distracted by about six feet of angel falling apart above him, _inside_ him. _Fuck_. He’s got Cas’ dick in his mouth, pushing further into his throat with each thrust; that’s _Castiel,_ former Angel of the motherfucking _Lord_ losing his shit, making the prettiest little sounds as Dean does his best to suck his brains out through his dick.

“Dean,” Cas chants, “Dean…I-I think I’m approaching—“ and whatever Cas was about to say gets choked off with a grunt as Dean hums around him, massages the underside with his tongue. Cas shudders, the muscles of his thighs and abs tensing as he hurtles toward climax, and Dean doubles down, relaxing his throat and taking him all the way to the base. There’s no finesse to it anymore;Dean’s eyes water from the intrusion, and he has to remind himself that he yes, he _can_ breathe through his nose, but he…needs this. He _needs_ to have as much of Cas inside him as possible, the same way he needs oxygen and cheeseburgers.

He can feel Cas growing harder in his mouth, so he swallows, and that sends Cas over the edge, pulsing hot and thick deep into Dean’s throat. He comes and comes and comes, and maybe there’s a moment or three where Dean’s disappointed because he wanted to feel that in his ass tonight, but this is pretty damn awesome, too. So Dean sucks Cas him through his orgasm, and through what seems like an eternity of shuddery aftershocks, and all the while, Cas just pats his head, runs those fingers through his hair, and it’s so goddamn _sweet_ that maybe Dean gets a little distracted by it, purrs like a contented kitten. Just a little. Shut up.

When Cas tilts his head back, Dean leans into the touch, lets his head fall back into Cas’ hand, and he’s rewarded with what may be the most beautiful smile in the history of smiling. The angel’s cheeks are rosy, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the laugh lines around them more pronounced than Dean’s ever seen because Cas is just grinning with just unguarded joy that his whole face glows with it. “Come here, my love,” Cas demands, and of course Dean obeys.

_My love my love my love._

Dean’s face feels funny, sore from working long dormant muscles, and he’s not sure how much of it’s from the blowjob and how much is from his own dopey smiling. But that don’t matterbecause Cas is here, naked in Dean’s room, and he’s warm and smiling and safe and, oh yeah, _naked_ in Dean’s bed and Dean’s still got a raging hard-on.

“I’d very much like to reciprocate,” Cas says, tugging Dean up off his knees, “if that would be amenable to you.” He ducks his head at the offer, like _that’s_ what makes him bashful, which is kinda hilarious given how he’d been absolutely shameless when he fucked Dean’s face not two minutes ago. Dean loves him. _Loves_ him, and hell yeah, he’s amenable to that. He leans in for a kiss as he goes to straddle Cas on the bed, and _holy mother of fuck_. Maybe some of Dean’s brains leaked out when he was sucking Cas’ out, because how the hell did he not notice _that?_

“Uh, Cas?” Dean breaks the kiss, but keeps their foreheads pressed together as he looks down between them.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Is…is that…typical for you?” Hesitantly, he rocks his hips. A tiny little roll, brushing his aching erection against Cas’ still rock-hard dick for emphasis. Gently, just in case he’s over-sensitive. Cas kisses him again, smiles, and so what if it’s hard to focus on Cas with their faces still so close together like this? They’re sharing the same air, breathing in unison, and Cas is running his fingertips up and down Dean’s back, and their cocks are sliding together, and it all feels so good. Dean groans, and lets his eyes flutter closed.

“Yes, Dean, I typically require at least three,” Cas answers, and wait, what were they talking about? Cas punctuates his response with a more forceful thrust of his hips, and oh.

_Oh._

Tonight just got even more awesome.


	4. Day Will Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexytimes continue.

“Want you to fuck me, angel.” Okay, so it’s a little breathy. Dean will go so so far as to say desperate, even. But he doesn’t whine. He does _not_ whine when he feels that still-hard length slide against his own erection.

Okay, maybe Dean whines a little. Shut up. Cas is fucking _hot._

“Anything you want.” Cas digs his nails into the soft, tender flesh of Dean’s obli—alright, his love handles, dammit. He’ll do some crunches tomorrow. “Dean,” Cas growls, fucking _growls_ , and it’s so hot that Dean forgets to be self-conscious, “stop thinking so loudly.” Those blunt nails scrape parallel paths up along either side of his spine, grabbing hold, and then he’s falling forward into the kiss, a wet and messy clash of teeth, utterly lacking in finesse but still oh so fucking delicious.

“Cas,” and _yes_ , Dean can admit it; he’s whining. Fuck off. “ _Now._ ”

“So impatient.” Cas slides his hands to Dean’s hips, holding him in place as he noses along Dean’s neck. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” Dean squeaks as the angel’s teeth clamp down on his earlobe, and another blurt of precome oozes from the tip of his cock. This keeps up much longer, and Dean is pretty certain he’s gonna explode, death by too much blood flow to his dick. It could be a thing.

In a fluid motion obviously the result of angel sex mojo, Cas rolls Dean onto the bed and kneels above him, letting the head of his cock slide up Dean’s length as he crawls up Dean’s body. _Fuck, that’s hot._ “Do you want me to prepare you with my hands and mouth or with my grace?”

“Um.” Dean chokes a little at that image, but absolutely does not swallow his own goddamn tongue. “Uh…yes?” he chuckles, then clears his throat, and tries not to combust from the heat of Castiel’s gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas murmurs, and dips down to capture Dean’s lips in gentle, chaste kiss. “Utterly, breathtakingly beautiful, Dean Winchester.” Those ocean-blue eyes twinkle as Cas nuzzles their noses together, and Dean’s cheeks are on fire from the intimacy of it all. “And I am desperately in love with you.”

_Goddammit shit motherfucker._ That’s it. Dean whines again, because enough is _enough_. A throaty little “Cas” tears from his throat as he shifts beneath the angel’s weight, his hips jerking up and awkwardly knocking their dicks together. “ _Please.”_ He guides one of Cas’ hands down to his groin, wiggling hopefully as thick fingers brush against his sac before the tips come to rest at his perineum.

“Dean.” Cas speaks his name like a goddamn _prayer_ , a low and breathy rasp against Dean’s throat at the same precise moment that those fingertips tease at his prostate from outside, the pressure just this side of too much. Dean shivers, arches his back, leaning into the sensation. The motion traps Cas’ fingers between his body and the mattress, and Dean can’t help but squirm so that Cas’ fingers push a little deeper into the sensitive spot.

“Inside, inside me, inside me,” he chants in rhythm with the movement of his hips. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the pillow, but he hears Cas chuckle, can feel those full lips curl into a smile against the tendon in neck, and he wants more. He wants to feel Cas mouth wet kisses along his jawline, bite bruises into his throat, his collarbones. He wants Cas to mark him up all over, leaving impressions of his lips and teeth and hands, to leave marks that show the world that Dean is _his._ For about the zillionth time since it was healed away, Dean longs for the claim of that angelic handprint, once seared into his shoulder.

The world goes hazy; somehow Dean knows, even though his eyes are closed, that everything’s gone blurry at the edges, and he knows it’s Cas, knows that those deep blue eyes are bright and glowing as the angel drags a single finger down his perineum to tease at Dean’s asshole. Just a hint of pressure, soft and slow and teasing against the puckered flesh, and Dean melts into it. At this rate, he’s gonna turn into a steaming, bubbling stain in the memory foam before Cas gets anything inside of him, and oh well, what a way to go. Only, wait. No. _Yes._

That fingertip slips into his hole, just barely, but holy fucking shit. Cas is _inside_ him, rubbing gently as he breaches the rim. Slow, deliberate circles, teasing and stretching, and it’s lighting Dean up all over. Cas takes his time working that finger deeper inside, gasping and moaning and lavishing praise in broken whispers as he goes, and yeah, Dean’s head may have exploded already.

“So perfect,how you open up,” Cas tongues along Dean’s adam’s apple and presses deeper inside him, “so hot and tight and _perfect_ for me.”

“For you,” Dean pants as he tries to grind down on Cas’ finger. “yours. Yes, please. More. _Please._ ”

“Patience, my beloved.” Cas tuts, nipping at a sensitive spot under Dean’s jaw hard enough to elicit a decidedly unmanly squeak. “I’ll give you everything you need, trust me.”

And Dean does. Implicitly and without the slightest reservation, he realizes. _Fuck._

“Cas.” He fucks himself on Cas’ finger, his movement growing awkward and frenzied, but Castiel refuses to step up his sadistically slow pace. Instead, he pulls out completely.

“Goddammit,” Dean doesn’t even care that he’s whining like a little bitch, his lower lip trembling with need, “ _Cas.”_ He’s not above pouting to get his way, dammit. But then that familiar pressure is back at his hole, this time cool and slick, and Dean doesn’t have enough blood flow to his brain right now to think about the logistics of how Cas got the lube.

“Yes,” he hisses as Cas pushes back into him, two fingers this time, with those same gentle, circular strokes massaging at his rim, encouraging the muscles to soften and relax and welcome him deeper into Dean’s body. If Dean didn’t know for a fact that heaven was full of uptight dickwads, he’d think this was it, that heaven is Cas’ fingers in his ass, his lithe body pressing Dean’s into the mattress. Dean scratches his nails up the angel’s arm and shoulder, then reaches around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, wet and messy and too awkward to be objectively _good_ , but still goddamn _perfect_.

They’re both panting when they finally break apart, their mouths still connected by a gossamer strand of spit that shouldn’t be as fucking hot as it is. It’s a gross string of spit for fuck’s sake. How the fuck is that a turn-on?

“Fuck me, Cas. Now. _Please._ ” He’s ready. He’s been ready for fuck knows how long, ten minutes or seven years, and he may just go full-on naked, covered in bees, _insane_ if he doesn’t get that angelic dick inside him, like _now._ Dean claws down Cas’ back, grabs at his hips and tugs, but he can’t get the right angle, can’t get the purchase he needs while Cas still is still knuckle deep in his ass, but he still tries, dammit. Never say that Dean Winchester ain’t a persistent fuck when he’s desperate for cock. Well, for one particular cock, anyway.

Cas is still grinning against his throat, taking way too much pleasure in Dean’s imminent death by lack of dick in his ass, and it’s too damn much. He can’t hold back the whimper that spills from his throat or stop that needy little tremble of his bottom lip. He wants this. God, he wants this. Has he ever wanted _anything_ like this?

“Shhh.” The angel soothes him with that sexy as fuck throaty rumble, and the sound is almost enough to distract Dean from his own desperation as Cas slides his fingers out of Dean’s hole. _Almost._ He mewls at the emptiness, pitiful as a hungry kitten, but Cas has got him. Cas promised to take care of him, and Cas keeps his promises. Cas is gonna give him what he needs.

“Cas.” It’s a broken little thing that rips from his throat, but Cas swallows it up with a hungry growl, capturing Dean’s lips in an almost punishing rough kiss, biting into his lower lip before plunging his tongue inside his mouth. Dean needs more, though. He gives a pathetic thrust of his hips, trapped as they are under Cas’ weight, and squirms just so to wrap a leg around the angel’s flank. Another thrust, this time intensified by his heel digging into the meat of Cas’ ass, and _holy fucking god finally._ Dean gasps in a frantic breath at the first touch, at the pressure of Cas’ cock at his entrance. Cas teases him with it for a second—still too long by at least three eons—one hand guiding his length, delicately stroking the velvet-soft head against Dean’s puckered hole. “ _Caaaas._ ” It’s too damn much, Dean’s goddamn _trembling_ with sheer need, and why the fuck is he so in love with this asshole anyway?

“Open your eyes, Dean,” Cas commands, his voice low and almost threatening in its intensity, and there’s no way in creation Dean could disobey. And _holy goddamn motherfuck_ , when he wills his lids to part, he’s rewarded with the most intense cobalt gaze imaginable. Cas’ eyes, stormy and lust-blown as they are, shine in a way Dean’s never seen. It’s angelic, it’s grace, but it’s something else, too, something _more_ , and Dean can’t look away. Can’t imagine ever looking away, not when Castiel is looking at him like _that,_ locking the two of them into a glowing bubble, away from every other goddamn thing in the universe, and Dean’s a goner for it.

And _that’s_ when he feels Cas make his move, press forward until the head of his cock breaches that first tight ring of muscle. It’s big and tight and maybe burns a little—Dean may have been a bit too hurried about the prep—but Cas his here, murmuring something in Enochian that soothes Dean straight down to his goddamn toes. He’ll have to ask him what he was saying later, if it was some kind of angelic pleasure spell or some shit.Or maybe it’s his grace that Dean’s feeling, a heat starting at the head of Cas’ cock and spreading through his body. Whatever it is, it’s hot and intense and the best damn thing Dean’s ever had inside him and he needs more. Like, _now._

Dean groans…something, he’s having difficulty with making words at the moment, but between whatever it is falling from his mouth and the way he’s wiggling his hips, Cas is able to get the message. _Thank fuck._ He pulls almost all the way out, and this time, when he pushes back inside, he keeps going, slow and steady until he’s fully sheathed inside Dean’s heat, and Dean wants to fucking cry at it. At how it feels to have Cas finally _finally_ inside him like this. His hands scrabble along the planes of Cas’ back, unable to stay still, needing to feel—to _keep_ feeling—as much of Cas as possible. His nails track welts in abstract shapes through the sweaty skin along his angel’s spine, across the dip of his lower back, before digging into the top of his ass cheeks. And judging from the sinful noises each scratch pulls from his Cas’ throat, he’s pretty damn alright with mixing in a little bit of pain with his pleasure. _Fuck yeah._

“That’s it, angel, oh _fuck_ _right there_ —” Dean’s grunts of praise turn first to nonsensical babbling and then into flat-out nonverbal wails as Cas switches up his angle so that his cockhead drags _just right_ against Dean’s prostate every time he pulls out. But fuck it. Dean’s whole “strong and silent” bedroom demeanor flew out the window even before they got their dicks out, so ain’t no use wasting effort being embarrassed right now anyway. Not when Cas is grinding his dick _right the fuck there,_ and the pressure is building up so fast in Dean’s core that he may actually combust from this orgasm. It could happen. Shut up.

Dean reaches for his long-forgotten dick while Cas picks up his pace, now nailing his prostate with every goddamn thrust, and just wraps his fist around it. Cas is fucking him so goddamn hard and perfect that Dean just has to hold tight, and let the force of Cas’ movement do the work. “Yeah yeah yeah yeah, baby, like that,” he grunts, pulling Cas down for another kiss, trapping his cock between their sweat-slick stomachs. And _oh shit yeah_ between that new friction and Cas pounding him into the mattress, that’s all she wrote. Dean yells Cas’ name as his orgasm rips from his body, painting their torsos in spurts of pearly white.

“C’mon, Cas, gimme more,” he chants, “I can take it. Harder harder. Gimme. _Fuck_.” Another few thrusts and Cas just explodes, snarling what Dean can only assume is some creative combination of Enochian cuss words peppered with _Dean_ and _beloved._ Cas’ whole goddamn body lights up with, with _something_ , spreading from the angel’s core throughout the room like he’s the center of one of those plasma balls Sammy used to love at science museums, and it’s all Dean can do to hold on, to follow Cas into the storm, an electric motherfucking _abyss_ of Castiel-flavored pleasure pulsing through every molecule of his being. Dean wraps himself around Cas, a tangle of arms and legs pulling him closer closer _closer_. He’s never felt so good, so _alive_ , but at the same time, he’s terrified. Dean Winchester doesn’t get good things; it’s gotta be a trap. Don’t let go, Winchester; hold on to Cas so that he doesn’t disintegrate in the sheer perfection of the moment. _Hold on hold on hold on. Castiel. Angel. Castiel. My Cas. My Cas. My Cas._

“Close your eyes,” Castiel screams, shouting his name one last time, and then room goes supernova, brighter than the goddamn sun. Cas is holding his face, those strong hands pressing tight to protect Dean’s closed eyes, and then…nothing.

Darkness envelops them, wrapping around them like a warm cocoon molding itself around their bodies until the world is nothing, nothing but the warmth and weight of Castiel against him, above him, inside him, the ragged rhythm of their breathing, the caress of Castiel’s soft rough lips against Dean’s jaw. Cas is still muttering something, a guttural, broken litany of Enochian rasping from that beautiful perfect mouth, and _this_ is now the moment that Dean wants to live in for all eternity, blissed out and boneless. Cas’ dick is starting to soften inside him, the squelch of semen in his ass—angelic as it may be—is objectively unpleasant, as are the gelatinous blobs of his own release cooling and squishing between their stomachs.

And yet, Dean wouldn’t trade this for anything. He presses his lips to the corner of Cas’ jaw, grinning at the scrape of the angel’s perpetual stubble against the sensitive skin. He noses along the line of Cas’ cheekbone, stopping when he reaches the still-slick line of a drying tear.

“Cas?” he asks, hesitant, “you okay?” Dean nuzzles the angel’s temple, gently encouraging him to turn his face. When Cas complies, Dean is awestruck. Cas’ cornflower blue eyes shine with more tears, but there’s a lightness to them, a joyfulness that hits Dean like a goddamn freighter. Cas is smiling at him like…like a normal kid on Christmas morning, like—fuck, like Dean imagines he’d smile if he walked to the bunker kitchen and saw his Mom making pancakes or some shit—and, and…this if for _him._ Cas is smiling like this because of punk-ass Dean _Winchester_ and it’s just…Fuck it. It’s perfect, is what it is, even if Dean thinks Cas is a goddamn fool for wasting that love on a fuck-up like him. If he’s what Cas wants, god help him, he’s gonna offer up every last piece of himself on a platter.

Dean gulps in as much air as he can take, and steels himself. _Oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck._ He squints his eyes shut, opening one just a tiny bit to peek at Cas as he speaks. “Y-you, uh….y’know that I feel that way, too, right?” 

“Your profession of love is one for the ages.” Ah, there’s the deadpan asshole Dean knows and loves. _Loves. Shit yeah, Dean loves him._ Cas’ eyes crinkle at the corners, and that gummy smile grows impossibly wider

“Shut up, dick,” Dean sputters, weakly, because he’s an emotionally constipated idiot, so what. “And, may be we should clean up a little here, before we’re glued together.” He’s going for annoyed here, but based on how Cas keeps grinning he must’ve missed the mark by a good mile.

“Whatever you want, Dean.” Cas nuzzles the tip of his nose against Dean’s, and suddenly their little cocoon is awash with a pulse of warm, blue light. “Better?”

And…it kind of is? Maybe. The mess cooling on his stomach and dribbling out of his ass is gone, but so is the sweat-tackiness of their skin. Gone, too, is that ache deep inside him, the lingering twitch of his abused hole. Dean misses it, misses it all, those tangible reminders of what they’ve just done. He’s gone fucking nostalgic for a goddamn creampie, for fuck’s sake. Love has made him such a prissy little girl.

“I guess,” he mumbles, trying (unsuccessfully) to rein in the pout until Cas saves him from embarrassment with a kiss. “Okay, yeah,” Dean decides, “yeah, this is better.” Without breaking the kiss, Cas slides off Dean’s body, stretching out on his side, and pulls Dean to face him. Dean lets Cas maneuver him into an acceptable cuddling position, then allows himself to get lost in the taste of Cas on his lips and tongue. They stay like that, trading lazy kisses as their hands skate along each other’s bodies, for god knows how long. Dean could stay like this forever, with Cas kissing praises into his flesh, lavishing him with the kind of love and adoration Dean has never dared to imagine for himself.

* * *

Dean bolts upright, knocking that chiseled jaw with his skull, suddenly frantic. “How long d’ya think we have?” He struggles to take in a full breath, afraid that any second now Lucifer will rip Cas away from him. _Again._

Cas runs a palm up the curve of Dean’s spine, way too cool and collected, given the circumstances.

“Cas, man, we gotta—“ Now there’s a soft, wet tongue joining the party, licking a broad stripe up the center of Dean’s back, and Dean’s brain scrambles, just a little, simultaneously melting into the hot tease of Cas’ mouth as he _tries_ to stay frantic about the harsh reality of their situation. “Caaas,” he can’t help but whine, “ _focus_.”

The peal of laughter startles him, a sharp and cacophonous snort that echoes off the stark cement walls. “Cas?”

“You didn’t feel it?” Cas is sitting up now, gathering Dean in his arms and mouthing kisses across his shoulder blades, up the back of his neck, “I could’ve sworn you felt it, too?”

“Felt what?” Dean tilts his head to the side, offering up more of his neck for Cas to explore.

“When we banished him?” Cas is giggling now, Castiel goddamn Angel of the motherfucking Lord is _giggling_ , and it’s the prettiest sound Dean’s ever heard.”

“We w-what now?”

“The spell he started,” Cas explains between soft kisses and bouts of laughter, “we transformed it. Lucifer’s gone. He left this vessel when I reached my second climax inside you.”

Okay, Dean hears Cas talking, and intellectually understands the words he’s using, but something still ain’t making sense. “B-but wha—, I mean…h- _how?_ ”

Cas slips his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulls, so that Dean’s back rests against his broad chest. Dean likes this, likes feeling small and safe in Cas’ arms. He lets his head drop back to rest on the angel’s shoulder. “The short version, my beloved, is that Enochian magic can be quite finicky. And that’s before you layer in the wild power of sex magic.”

“Wait…Are you tellin’ me we _fucked_ Lucifer outta you?” The rumble of Cas’ laughter shakes Dean where he rests against him, and god if that’s not the best feeling since ever.

“If you want to put it bluntly, then yes, Dean,” Cas agrees.

Dean scrunches up his face, deep in thought, and turns to gaze up at Cas, who kisses away the furrow in his brow. “So, uh…where exactly did he go?”

“He vacated this body as I ejaculated.”

Dean’s eyes grow wide in mortification. “You’re sayin’ you jizzed a fucking _archangel_ up my ass?”

“Must you be so crass?” Cas scowls, like he’s the one who should be offended here. Rude. “But, if we’re being technical…I guess I did,” he offers with a tiny shrug. A goddamn careless _shrug,_ like he’d just told Dean it rained last night, or that they’re out of pop-tarts.

“B-but what happened _after_?” Dean sputters, “I-I mean—where is he now?” Cas tilts his head and squints, thoughtfully. And now the asshole’s just staring off into the distance, serene and calm as you please.

_“CAS!”_

Whether it’s the volume or the panic in his voice that jars Castiel out of his trance, Dean can’t say, but he levels that intense, squinty blue gaze on Dean, his head still doing that stupid adorable tilt. “You’re worried,” he says, almost fairly.

“Psh…yeah I’m worried. We’re talkin’ about _Lucifer_ here, Cas.”Dean feels his heart rate elevating, and hardly registers how he’s scrubbing his hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands between his fingers. The little prickles at his follicles grounds hims. And of course Cas picks up on it, on Dean’s anxiety, and wraps his arms even more tightly around the hunter’s torso, nuzzling at that tender spot just beneath Dean’s ear.

“He’s not in you, Dean,” Cas assures him, “even Lucifer needs you to say ‘yes’.” Dean opens his mouth to object, but Cas cuts him off by biting at the tendon beneath Dean’s jaw. “Shhhh, beloved. He needs your consent to _him_. What you said in the throes of passion was directed to me.” Cas grins against the column of Dean’s throat, then laves open mouthed kisses down to the juncture of neck and shoulder.

Dean relaxes into the touch, allows himself to relax into it. Allows himself to believe. Good things do happen, Dean.

“So, uh…s-so what now?” he asks, his voice small and tremulous as he snuggles back against the solidity, the heat of Cas behind him.

“Now?” Cas sighs contentedly, and Dean preens in delight at how the gesture jostles him on Cas’ chest. “Now, I believe you’ll sleep.” He noses at the hair above Dean’s ear, drops a gentle kiss tohis temple. “And when you wake, I have some ideas for further exploration.”

“G’night, Cas.” Dean slurs, already halfway to a blissed out sleep.

“Rest well, my beloved Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who needs magical healing cock when you can magically jizz out an archangel, am I right? Yes, it's absurd. But the prospect of Dean getting what he wants and then having that moment of Lucifer taking over again...well, that was too angsty for me to handle. So yes, deus ex machina to the rescue. 
> 
> I do have thoughts about a possible epilogue that brings Sam and Rowena into the story to discuss how exactly this wonderfully convenient Enochian truth/angel-banishing sex spell works. Let me know in the comments if that's something you'd be interested in. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hello new fandom! At long last, this fic is finished.


End file.
